


decisions made in your absence

by lucymonster



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jealousy, Multi, OT3, Pining, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“This isn’t my area of expertise,” Steve admits through gritted teeth. “The whole...relationships thing."</i> </p>
<p>Or, what to do when your two secret love interests are falling for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	decisions made in your absence

**Author's Note:**

> Pinch hit fill for puckity's request in the Star Spangled Exchange.
> 
> Many thanks to Vorvayne for the lightning-speed beta!

In the beginning, Bucky doesn’t trust Sam as far as he can throw him.

 

To be fair, there aren’t many people that Bucky trusts at this point in time. He _sort_ of trusts Steve, in that he obeys Steve’s suggestions like they’re orders and sticks close to him when they’re both in the house and occasionally even initiates conversation with him. He trusts Tony enough to let him do maintenance on his arm, and he doesn’t seem too worried about Bruce - once, back when they first brought him into the tower, he even let Bruce give him a full medical check-up without destroying a single item in his lab.

 

But he doesn’t trust Sam. All it takes is for Sam to enter a room and Bucky tenses up, watching him with sharp eyes that are half predator and half frightened prey.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam tells Steve, shaking his head with that good-natured smile he has which is one of the reasons Steve feels so bad about Bucky’s attitude. “A guy like Barnes is bound to have some trust issues - there’s no rush to get him warmed up to me. He’s not doing any harm.”

 

Which is true, although there are days when that fact doesn’t feel like much comfort to Steve. Bucky’s not doing any harm. He’s also not doing anything else, really. His favourite hobbies are staring into space from his sheltered spot in the corner of the living room, and staring into space from his lookout point on top of the Avengers Tower, and occasionally - when he’s feeling sociable - staring into space from a single-seater armchair in front of the TV while the others watch a movie together.

 

Steve remembers a time when it would have been _him_ sitting on the fringes of everything, watching Bucky laugh and crack jokes and forge lifelong friendships just by turning on his most charming smile and letting everyone flock to him.

 

“He’ll come around to you,” Steve says, more confidently than he feels. Even if he weren’t such a people-person, the Bucky Steve knew would have loved Sam. Which means that, really, it’s all just a question of how much is left of the Bucky Steve knew inside the sullen, skittish man who moments ago just fled the living room like a startled gazelle because Sam walked into it.

 

And there’s only one answer to that question which Steve can stand to think about.

 

-

 

Here’s the thing: Steve’s desires are irrelevant. That’s what he tells himself over and over, repeating it in his head like a mantra, because there are times when he needs the reminder so badly it makes him sick. There are times when Bucky comes out of the shower with his wet hair slicked back off his face and a towel slung low around his hips (he understands the _theory_ of privacy, these days, but not always the practice). There are times when he smiles at Steve across the table, slow and stiff and unpracticed but just enough like his old smile that Steve’s heart lurches in his chest. There are times they never talk about the morning after, when Steve wakes to the sound of whimpering from Bucky’s room and sits by his side just stroking his forehead until he goes back to sleep.

 

Sometimes, on those nights, Bucky’s hand shoots out when Steve tries to leave; sometimes it’s to grab for Steve’s throat, other times for his wrist. Once, he holds on for so long that Steve ends up falling asleep where he sits, and he wakes the next morning with a metal arm wrapped tight around his waist and Bucky’s face buried in the hollow of his throat and it’s almost - _almost_ \- like the world has gone back to the way it’s supposed to be.

 

But Steve’s desires are irrelevant. It’s Bucky’s wellbeing that matters, and Steve’s job is to support the slow crawl of progress as Bucky claws his way out of the pit Hydra buried him in.

 

Last century’s Bucky was brimming with life, and last month’s Bucky was an empty shell. Today’s Bucky has a soft, hoarse voice and eyes that dart around the room like a hunted animal. There are sparks appearing in his hollow stare again, little flashes of interest in the outside world that sometimes align with Steve’s expectations and sometimes don’t. He likes watching the baseball, and he also likes Tony’s weapons cache (there was a full-scale tower-wide meltdown on the day he bypassed security to get in there, but when Steve found him he wasn’t even arming himself - just inspecting a prototype grenade launcher with an expression of innocent curiosity on his face). Left to his own devices he drinks his coffee black and bitter and scalding hot like he always used to, but then there’s the day when Sam brings him back a frappucino from his post-mission Starbucks run and Bucky looks like he’s going to _cry_ when he takes his first sip of it.

 

“You should go back to that cold coffee place,” ends up being the first thing Bucky ever actually says to Sam. It’s also, incidentally, the first time Steve has heard him ask for anything beyond basic survival necessities.

 

Steve marks it down as a triumph, and ignores the little pang inside him when Sam grins widely at Bucky and Bucky’s return smile has none of the stiffness or reluctance that Steve’s only just been getting used to.

 

-

 

Steve is an _adult_. He’s also, above and beyond all other feelings, a friend to Bucky. He’s not jealous. He’s not jealous. He’s not -

 

Okay, maybe he’s a little bit jealous.

 

It’s all come on so suddenly that he can’t remember when or how it started. He’s watched Bucky unfurl over a stunningly short period of time, from curling up on the couch letting Sam run him through seven decades of musical developments, to sitting out on the deck - in broad daylight, no less - swapping war stories in that quiet, shy voice that is starting to pick up speed and volume. And for the most part, Steve’s heart is _bursting_ with pride to see how far Bucky’s come, how every day the shadows beneath his eyes are a little less dark and the whimpers from his room at night are a little quieter. And if there’s a stifled little part of Steve that wishes he could be the one sitting there next to Bucky in the sun - well, he reminds himself ruefully, maybe this is what ‘going back to normal’ really means. It’s not as if this is the first time he’s watched Bucky fall for someone else.

 

Because Steve is an adult, and it’s a long time since he’s been naive enough not to see that that’s what’s going on.

 

It’s not as if Bucky is ever subtle about his feelings any more. He’s an open book, and Steve is honestly starting to suspect that Bucky’s just completely forgotten what privacy is supposed to feel like. Or perhaps, after so many years of brainwashed servitude, he’s simply making the most of his newfound freedom of emotion. He watches Sam with all the focus of a sniper and none of the malice. He smiles when Sam smiles, and laughs when Sam laughs, and - as of this morning - Sam has the distinction of being the only person who has managed to coax Bucky outside the perimeter of the tower since he first arrived here.

 

They went jogging, apparently. Sam comes back drenched in sweat and muttering all kinds of unpleasant things about supersoldiers, but he still has a huge grin to spare for Steve once Bucky has scampered off to the training floor to do _an actual workout, Wilson, some of us have this thing called stamina._ Steve does his honest best to return Sam’s cheer.

 

“You two are getting on well,” he says, watching Sam pull his sweaty t-shirt up over his head and - okay, it’s not like Steve can _blame_ Bucky for being attracted. It’s not like Steve himself hasn’t had the thought, once or twice, that just maybe, under different circumstances -

 

“Hey, you called it first,” says Sam cheerfully. “Turns out we got some things in common.”

 

Steve doesn’t ask what those things are. He’s not...he’s a _little_ jealous, maybe, but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that, after all the damage Hydra inflicted and all the trauma he’s had to work through, Bucky is finally starting to find his feet, enjoy himself, build new bonds to go with his new lease on life.

 

And Steve would rather crawl right back into the Potomac than stand in the way of that.

 

-

 

“You should come with us,” says Sam, straightening his jacket by his reflection in the elevator door. “Good music, good company - tell me honestly that you’ve got something better to do with your evening.”

 

Steve chuckles. He doesn’t, but that’s no reason he’s about to step in on Sam and Bucky’s first date. Not that anybody’s calling it that out loud. Steve’s basing his assumption off the sly grin on Sam’s face and the fact that Bucky, when Steve last saw him disappear into the bathroom about half an hour ago, was wearing clothes that weren’t made out of kevlar, leather _or_ tracksuit material.

 

As for Sam...well, seeing how well he’s cleaned up for the occasion leaves Steve with a dry mouth and a sinking sense of shame, because isn’t it enough that he’s already jealous of _one_ of his two closest friends? But Sam’s grinning like taking Bucky out on the town is the ultimate fulfillment of all his life’s wishes, and something about seeing him like this makes Steve ache inside.

 

“You should come with us,” says Bucky, hands fisting anxiously in the pockets of his new slacks. “Sam says it’s going to be fun.” The words are stilted, clearly rehearsed, and Steve shakes his head and gives Bucky his best reassuring smile. It _is_ going to be fun. They don’t need to worry about him.

 

Sam gives Bucky a long up-and-down look when he joins him by the elevator. With his casual suit and combed hair he looks dazzlingly reminiscent of the carefree man that still lives on in Steve’s memories, but his tense shoulders and wide, nervous eyes are giving him away. “Looking good,” says Sam encouragingly, then narrows his eyes when they fall on the barely-there bulge underneath Bucky’s jacket. “Okay, Barnes, we have _talked_ about this.”

 

Bucky grimaces as he hands over the gun, but he makes no protest. Progress, Steve thinks, is coming faster than ever these days.

 

“You should have gone with them,” says Tony, sauntering into the living room a good half-hour later with two cartons of takeaway and his usual smirk set firmly in place. “Dinner and jazz night at the local? Sounds like just the thing for a couple of old-timers like you and Barnes.”

 

“Maybe,” says Steve, snatching up his carton and shrugging. He never used to admit it, but jazz was always more Bucky’s thing than his. And tagging along on Bucky’s dates never led to anything but awkwardness. Steve wants better than that for him and Sam.

 

They get home late that night. Steve knows, because he’s still lying awake when he hears the sound of two hushed voices out in the hallway, and the unmistakeable thump of two bodies falling in sync onto Sam’s bed next door.

 

-

 

So maybe Steve is more than a little jealous.

 

But he’s an adult. He can handle it. What matters is that Bucky’s smile is dazed and dreamy when he emerges for breakfast the next morning, and Sam - rising about half an hour later, with dark purple bruises all down his neck - grins at Steve across the table like the cat that got the canary.

 

They’re happy. And Steve’s desires are irrelevant.

 

-

 

“It’s not like that, Steve.”

 

It’s been going on almost a fortnight now. It’s not like...well, Steve doesn’t keep track on purpose or anything. But their bedrooms are right next door to each other and also Bucky is _expressive_ , these days, and Steve can’t help that he’s got good hearing. So he knows what it’s like, in vivid detail fleshed out by his reluctant imagination on the lonelier nights. He knows enough to know it’s not fair for Sam to be _laughing_ at him, not when it’s Sam who’s spent the last two weeks strutting around the tower with a giant smirk on his face making bedroom eyes at Bucky every time they pass.

 

“Oh yeah?” says Steve, and this whole thing started as him trying to offer his congratulations like a decent person and he’s honestly off-kilter at meeting such mocking resistance. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like, then?”

 

There’s a strange look on Sam’s face as he kicks back on the couch, watching Steve with that slightly incredulous smirk still lingering around the corners of his mouth. “Uh...I don’t know?” he tries, shrugging. “Like I told you, Barnes and I got some stuff in common. We started spending some time together, it worked out great, so we’ve kept on doing it.”

 

“So I’ve heard,” Steve says pointedly. He’s not going to be crass about it, but surely Sam has at least _noticed_ the loud vocal effects that tend to accompany him and Bucky _spending time_.

 

To Sam’s credit, he does look a bit embarrassed. “Look, man, _you_ try telling Barnes he’s gotta stay quiet when things start feeling that intense. There is literally no way to phrase it that’s not going to give him a panic attack.”

 

“My point,” Steve goes on doggedly, “is that you’re not exactly just hanging out.”

 

“Well, no,” Sam allows. “But...dating? C’mon, Steve, does that even _sound_ like something he’s ready for?”

 

In the moments he’s less proud of, Steve’s occasionally found himself wondering the same thing. Bucky’s doing better these days, but ‘better’ is such a broad term - it encompasses both the days when he smiles like his whole world is sunshine, and the days (rarer now, but still there) when he sits out on the roof and twitches like he’s poised to attack when anyone gets too close.

 

“Exactly,” says Sam, though Steve hasn’t said a word - his train of thought must be showing through on his face. “I like the guy a whole lot, but I’m not stupid. You know, though-” He leans forward in his chair, looking Steve up and down like he’s having some kind of epiphany - “I’m starting to wonder if you might be.”

 

His gaze is far too knowing. Steve feels something jolt in his stomach, and he doesn’t need to hear another word from Sam to know that somehow, without even realising it, Steve has betrayed himself. “I don’t,” he blurts out before he has time to gather his thoughts. “I mean, that’s not...Bucky isn’t…”

 

Sam just chortles. “Supersoldiers,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Did you all have to trade in your social skills for that extra strength?”

 

Steve can feel the warmth rising to his face. Sam’s cocky grin is returning full force, and it’s really not making this any easier for him. “This isn’t my area of expertise,” he admits through gritted teeth. “The whole relationships thing. People... _getting on_ , if that’s what you and Bucky are calling it these days. You know that.”

 

“I know.” Leaning over, Sam claps him affectionately on the shoulder. “Let me tell you something about Bucky, alright?” That knowing look is still there in Sam’s eyes, and behind it, something soft and gentle that Steve can’t quite make out. “He talks about you a lot. Thinks about you a lot. Worries about all the decisions he’s making now, in case they don’t line up to what you’re expecting of him. And that’s all I’m gonna say, because I’m not your goddamn babysitter.” Sam sits back again, and pushes himself to his feet with a deep, comfortable sigh. “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Steve. Trust me on that one.”

 

And then he’s gone, leaving Steve to stare at his empty spot on the couch with a mind full of unanswered questions and a vague, embarrassing sensation that his life has gotten well and truly out of his control.

 

-

 

It’s Bucky who finds Steve down in the training hall later that night, working out his tension on one of the ultra-reinforced punching bags Tony has taken to keeping in stock since Bucky took up residence in the tower. “That’s mine,” says Bucky by way of greeting, though it doesn’t sound like a complaint so much as a casual statement of fact. Personal possessions are another one of those things Bucky is still getting used to.

 

“Mind if I borrow it?” Steve asks without pausing; no response. With a sigh, he pulls back and lets the bag creak to a standstill on its chain. “What’s up, Buck?” It’s a stupid question - Steve already has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what’s up.

 

He doesn’t know where he gained his ability to recognise Bucky’s facial expressions even when they’re completely obscured - in this case, by the combined effects of the shadows in the corner of the gym where Bucky stands and the curtain of hair falling thick about his face. But somehow, Steve knows he’s frowning.

 

“I talked to Sam,” says Bucky, and his voice is small and quiet. He’s not moving from the wall so Steve joins him there, keeping his movements slow and cautious, stopping at a respectful distance. “You’re...jealous. Of him and me.”

 

Steve’s throat feels constricted; he doesn’t want to have this conversation, not for the second time in a single day, but Bucky’s spent too many decades of his life being lied to already and Steve’s damned if he’s going to be a part of that. “Yeah,” he says, and casts about for something to follow up with, something comforting and responsible that’ll put Bucky back at ease with him. “Not in an angry way, though, I promise. I care about you a lot, both of you, and I-”

 

“Can you stop that?”

 

Bucky’s looking up at Steve now; his face is still shadowed, but his eyes are bright and there’s no sign anywhere of the fear or distress that Steve was expecting. “Don’t need you comforting me,” Bucky adds tersely. “You’re just stupid.”

 

“I know,” says Steve. And it stings, it really does, but at least they’re having an honest conversation about this - at least Bucky’s actually standing here, talking to him about it, instead of pulling away and leaving it hanging like he could (and maybe should) have done. “Nothing has to change, though, Bucky. It’s been like this for ages, and I-”

 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. It’s probably a good thing, because Steve’s not actually sure where the sentence was going. Another reassurance; something calming and self-deprecating that’ll make Bucky understand he and Sam are allowed to pursue their own happiness, Steve’s selfish wishes be damned.

 

He doesn’t finish the sentence because Bucky’s mouth is on his, with all the restraint and indecision of a full-scale military strike.

 

It takes Steve a good long moment to process exactly what’s happening. In the intervening time he’s too busy keening into Bucky’s mouth, and when Bucky pulls away and Steve can think again the first thing he notices is the total lack of residual frown on Bucky’s face.

 

He’s...smiling. Straight at Steve, as bright and easy as Steve’s ever seen him smile at Sam.

 

“Bucky,” Steve says, straightening his shoulders and doing his best to think clearly through the fog of surprise and desire and confusion that’s descended on his mind. “Bucky, what are you doing?”

 

“Guess, Steve.” Bucky has gone very still beneath the hands Steve didn’t realise he’d draped around his shoulders, and he’s watching Steve intently, gauging his reaction with the same focus Steve has seen him line up shots.

 

“But I-” A million thoughts are whirring around Steve’s head, clashing like cymbals against each other, and all he can manage is to stare up at the anxiety that’s starting to creep into Bucky’s expression and say, “Sam,” in a voice that comes out as little more than a thin squeak.

 

Bucky relaxes again. “Sam,” he says, “feels like I do. He’s in the bedroom now. We should go join him.” It’s somewhere between a suggestion and an order, and it makes Steve’s heart leap in his chest because when the hell did Bucky get well enough to start giving _orders_?

 

“I mean,” he perseveres as Bucky guides him out to the elevator and hits the number for their quarters, “I thought you guys were...you know.”

 

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

 

“Then…” Steve swallows, tries to gather his thoughts. “Where do I fit in, exactly?”

 

“I dunno.” Bucky meets his eyes again, and it’s a strange look that’s come over him - part desire, and part blank emptiness like Steve hasn’t seen in him since he first started spending time with Sam. “I…” He frowns, concentrating. “I like you, a lot. And Sam. I’ve got seventy years of my life without a single nice memory, and twenty-five odd years before that without many memories at all. You guys fill in some of that space.”

 

The elevator doors open onto their living room. Steve hesitates to get out - he’s aware that this is the most words Bucky’s said to him in a row since the 40s.

 

And there are so many questions he wants to ask, so many things he wants to say _back_ , but maybe this isn’t the moment. He follows Bucky down the hall to Sam’s room, and there’s Sam just coming out of the shower with nothing but a low-slung towel for modesty, and this has to be some kind of coordinated ambush designed specifically to make Steve blush like a virgin schoolboy.

 

“Uh...hi,” Steve manages, clearing his throat.

 

“Hey,” says Sam, and grins at Steve. “You finally gonna join us?”

 

Steve swallows. “Yeah,” he says, and that’s the last word he manages to get out before two bodies are pressed up against him and this is _definitely_ a coordinated ambush.

 

Sam and Bucky kiss so differently it’s almost hard to believe they’ve been practicing on each other these last couple of weeks. But there’s a synchronicity of sorts to their movements, and as Sam pulls Steve forward towards the bed - lips gentle against his, teasing and sensual - Bucky follows without breaking contact, his mouth hot and his teeth sharp against Steve’s neck.

 

And maybe that’s what gets him, the stark contrast between the two of them. Because there’s a dangerous edge to Bucky’s kisses, a ruthless, unflinching purpose to his every movement as he pulls Steve’s shirt over his head, hands reaching around to rake down Steve’s bare chest. Sam’s still taking his time sucking on Steve’s lower lip, one hand combing lightly through his hair. Neither of them seem to be expecting much input from Steve at this point, so he tilts his head back and just goes with it, sucks in air through his teeth and feels the solid heat of two bodies grinding up against him in time with each other.

 

“Still jealous?” Sam murmurs, now nibbling a slow path down Steve’s exposed throat.  Steve responds with a half-hearted jab to Sam’s ribs, then hisses when Sam catches his hands, chuckling, and guides them down towards where the towel is slipping away, wraps them around Sam’s swollen cock. “How about now?”

Bucky’s hands have dropped to fumble with Steve’s belt, and then the cold, smooth stroke of metal fingers over his bare ass is drawing a moan from Steve’s throat. He arches back into the touch, and in one smooth motion Bucky has a hand at the small of his back and Sam is pulling on his shoulders and he’s tipping forward onto all fours. Steve makes absolutely no effort to resist. There’s a fire kindling in his veins and two pairs of hands are roaming all over his skin like they can’t get enough.

 

“Are you up for this?” Bucky is tilting forward, leaning in over him to murmur in his ear in a way that _would_ be tender if he didn’t follow it up with a sharp nip to Steve’s earlobe.

 

“Very up,” Steve gasps. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this up in his _life_ , and it doesn’t help that Sam’s cock is inches from his face, or that Bucky’s moving back to trail more sharp-toothed kisses down Steve’s spine. And it seems as though Bucky likes to play rough (which really, Steve thinks, he could have seen coming from a mile off), but he doesn’t rush, and warm, searching fingers are trailing up the cleft of Steve’s ass and just pressing, teasing, in time with each bite.

 

Sam has left him, for the moment. It doesn’t seem fair, but he’s back before too long, passing something over to Bucky before propping himself sideways along Steve with his head tilted just far back enough for a clear view of what’s happening. And what’s happening right now is that Bucky’s fingers are slick and they’re pushing _in_ , and Bucky’s breath is a warm puff against the side of Steve’s neck. “Sam? Are you-”

 

“I got plans,” says Sam with a wave of his hand. “Thought I’d just enjoy the view for a bit first.” His free hand is wrapped around his own cock, stroking slowly up and down, and having him so far out of reach is _definitely_ not fair.

 

But what’s also not fair is that Bucky is curling his fingers sharply inside Steve, and the sound that leaves Steve’s mouth is a long way from dignified.

 

“ _Oh_ \- okay, you know what, hurry up,” he groans, and there’s a part of him that still can’t quite believe this is happening but the rest of him is submerged completely beneath a want that’s starting to burn him.

 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” says Bucky, and Steve can hear the smirk in his voice. Steve thrusts back against his hand, _hard_ , and is rewarded when a small, choked sound takes the edge off Bucky’s smugness.

 

He gets what he wants. His eyes are still glued on Sam as he strokes himself, and Bucky’s fingers are replaced by his cock, hard and hot and still too _slow_ , and then Steve’s thrusting back again and Bucky’s buried to the hilt and _whimpering_.

 

And then Sam’s in front of Steve again, tilting his head up with a hand in his hair, eyes dark with want. “Yeah, I’m definitely not sitting this one out,” he says hoarsely, and so Steve wraps his lips greedily around Sam’s cock and _oh god_ -

 

They’re both moving, thrusting into him, still in perfect sync and he _can’t_ -

 

It’s like a perfect distillation of every craving he’s been trying to suppress these last few weeks. Bucky is gasping and moaning as he moves in Steve, and Sam is arching into Steve’s mouth and panting as Steve’s tongue works the underside of his cock. All this time he’s been so jealous of them both, and it’s hardly occurred to him to realise just what he was jealous _of:_ their ability to make each other happy, to satisfy each other’s needs in the most natural, effortless way.

 

But apparently, against all probability, there’s a place in their happiness for him as well. It’s a place where he can taste precum as he swirls his tongue around the head of Sam’s cock, where Bucky’s rhythm is starting to slip as his fingers dig into Steve’s hip and each thrust sends lightning up Steve’s spine. Already he’s riding the very edge, anchored only by the unrestrained sounds Bucky makes and the softer, quieter pants and groans as Sam’s fist starts to tighten in Steve’s hair.

 

And Steve doesn’t want it to stop. He wants it to stay like this forever, but Sam’s voice is a hoarse growl - “I’m close, Steve, _fuck_ -” and Bucky’s starting to come apart in earnest now, doubled forward with his teeth sinking so hard into Steve’s shoulder that they might actually leave a mark. Steve’s got one hand wrapped around the base of Sam’s cock and the other palming desperately at his own, and he’s holding it together and he’s holding it together until suddenly he’s _not_ , and when he comes it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, a fire that blazes through every nerve in his body all at once until he’s wrung out and limp in the two sets of hands that are all that’s left to hold him steady. He swallows Sam’s cock down the rest of the way and feels Sam’s whole body shudder and tense, and his full-throated groan is drowned out by Bucky’s loud, keening cry as he follows the two of them over the edge.

 

After that there are too many limbs and not nearly enough bed space, but somehow they make it work: Steve ends up sandwiched between Sam and Bucky with his face pressed into Sam’s chest and Bucky’s slowing breath hot in his ear. He drifts far too easily, still messy and sweaty but too sated to care, and dizzy with the knowledge that _this_ , finally, is exactly how things are supposed to be.

 

-

 

In the end, things don’t change all that much.

 

Bucky’s still a long way from healthy. He puts on a good show, but there are always the days when sudden movements make him jump, when he stops talking altogether or else drops back to monosyllables, when he retreats to the rooftop and tenses like a bowstring if anyone approaches. Steve likes to think those days are getting less frequent, but in the back of his mind he’s starting to wonder if maybe they’re a built-in part of Bucky now. Maybe they’re just one of those changes he’s going to have to get used to, like the fact that Bucky now takes cream and sugar with his coffee and keeps his hair long and sometimes speaks Russian instead of English by mistake.

 

Between them, though, Steve and Sam make a pretty good team for helping him get things back together. Admittedly, neither of them have found much incentive to help him with his vocal approach to pain and pleasure. But the rest -

 

Well, the rest they’re sorting out.

 

They still don’t have a name for whatever it is they’re doing. With the way things are going, Steve’s not really sure they need one - maybe there’s something to be said for Bucky’s shrugged _I dunno_ and Sam’s cheerful insistence that they _get along well, and that’s all that matters_.

 

And the next time Sam announces that he’s taking them both out to a local jazz club, Steve accepts the invite without hesitation.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://lucymonster.tumblr.com)!


End file.
